Cold Sheets
by Our-Lady-of-Victory
Summary: Spock never stays.
1. Chapter 1

James T. Kirk, Captain of the Starship _Enterprise_, stretched contentedly as he slowly awoke to his alarm's beeping. He then sighed as he felt the cold sheets next to him. Of course they were cold. He never stayed. Jim would fall asleep soon after, no matter how hard he tried to keep awake. And when he woke in the morning, his first officer was gone.

Jim sighed once more as he pulled himself out of bed. Once he was in uniform, he could suppress the loneliness, pretend that he didn't care he always woke alone. By the time he ate breakfast, he actually believed it himself.

The days went by. Sometimes they were routine, and sometimes his crew became infected by space dust or the transporter malfunctioned. Jim was perfectly capable of handling any situation that came his way. During the day at least.

In the evenings, his first officer would come by his quarters. Usually, they simply played chess, and then Spock would leave. Sometimes, however, his first officer would have a gleam in his eyes, and chess was forgotten. But Spock never stayed the whole night, and every morning after, Jim woke to cold sheets.

This particular morning should not have been any different. Jim's alarm went off at it's normal time. He stretched his arms out, and his fingers contacted warmth. Spock was still gone, but the sheets were warm. Warm enough that Jim knew Spock had left minutes before the alarm went off.

Jim smiled, and no longer felt so alone.

**A/N: Thinking about doing a companion drabble from Spock's POV...Thoughts?**


	2. Chapter 2

Spock only wanted to play chess that night. He followed his Captain into his personal quarters. They usually preferred their games to be private.

The First Officer of the Starship _Enterprise _had been battling with intense emotions for the past weeks. He hadn't felt this depth of emotion since his mother's death. And while these new feelings were nothing like the rage he felt for his mother's killer, they were just as consuming.

Their game that night was leisurely with neither one truly playing to win. The lights automatically dimmed, reminding the Captain of his bed time. But Spock couldn't make himself leave the room.

He had tried to let these feelings go, as he had let go of so many emotions before. But a part of him wanted them to stay. He reveled in the blood pounding in his ears, the fact that he could feel warmth outside his own quarters. He watched as Jim's fingers lingered over the chess pieces. He listened to Jim's breathing. Besides the ventilation system, it was the loudest noise in the room.

Spock knew he should leave. He could feel something uncurling within him, and he knew he wouldn't be able to stop if it reached the surface. He looked back down to Jim's fingers, which had stilled on the chess piece and back up into his face. Jim's breathing had quickened from it's slow, even pace, his lips were slightly parted.

Spock wasn't leaving. Not just yet at least.

Jim fell asleep, his hands loosely grasped in Spock's. Spock couldn't sleep. Not only did he not require it at this time, but he began feeling a new emotion, one he was vastly unfamiliar with: blind panic.

He tried to calm himself down but was on the verge of hysterics. He had opened himself up farther than he ever had before. He shivered. Even the nearness of Jim's body was not enough to keep him warm. He needed Jim to wake up. He didn't want to wake him. He just needed Jim to realize something was wrong and wake up.

Jim slept on.

As gently as he could, Spock removed his fingers from Jim's grasp and eased himself out of bed. He quietly dressed and brushed his lips across Jim's forehead before exiting the room.

He spent the rest of the night in meditation, preparing himself for what the next day would bring. He didn't know how Jim would react, if he would be angry, if he would want to talk about what had happened.

Jim didn't say anything. The next day, they went about their business as if nothing had happened.

Jim and Spock fell back into a routine, a routine that was randomly broken by Spock's inability to contain what he felt for his captain. He tried to meditate, to control what was inside him. Most nights he did just fine. They were able to enjoy a chess game in peace.

But whenever Spock felt that need, he would look up to see that Jim knew what he wanted. And Jim would give it to him. But he couldn't bring himself to stay, and Jim never asked.

It was getting harder and harder to leave. He could watch Jim sleep for hours. He was fairly peaceful in slumber. He didn't snore. He didn't drool. Sometimes his lips would part slightly. On anyone else, Spock knows he would have thought it ridiculous. But on Jim, it was almost sensual. And he wasn't even trying.

But what Spock liked best about watching Jim sleep was the transformation in his face. Being a Starfleet Captain took it's toll on anyone, and Jim was under more pressure than any captain, current or previous. Jim's face softened as he slept. It was a look no one else got to see.

Each time Spock would stay a little longer, loathe to tear himself away. Clearly, Jim did not want him to stay the whole night. Spock was well aware of the Captain's history. He knew what was to be expected of him. This knowledge didn't make leaving Jim's side any easier.

So, most nights, he tried to simply be Jim's friend, to play chess and exult in their camaraderie. But on the nights he gave into temptation, he wanted to stay, to keep the body next to his warm. He wanted to keep his fingers wrapped in Jim's.

It was another reckless night of passion. Spock stroked back Jim's hair as he slept on, knowing he should be going, and completely unable to. He glanced over at the clock. Jim would wake soon. It was as if he had to drag himself out of the bed. He dressed, brushed his lips against Jim's forehead. His captain stirred slightly, and Spock knew it was time to leave once again.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited and alerted! It encouraged me to write this...and I even made it longer! And I just might write more! **


	3. Chapter 3

Jim was sure he was dying. He coughed, hoping to get out whatever substance that was burning through his lungs. He hacked until his throat hurt, but still felt like he couldn't breathe. Bones injected him with another hypo, this one to counteract the side effects of the last three.

"Bones…" Jim wheezed. He took another fiery breathe in.

"Jim, don't talk." The Doctor's tone was commanding, but not harsh. Jim nodded and attempted to take another breath. McCoy finally decided to try one final thing. He injected another hypo and Jim promptly passed out.

Jim's mouth felt like cotton and tasted like something had died in there. At least he could breathe normally. He cracked open his eyes, squinting even in the dim lights of his quarters. Jim quickly closed his eyes, but not before noticing someone was in the room with him. He remembered seeing blue. His heart nearly skipped a beat and for one hopeful moment he was sure Spock was checking up on him. He parted his lips to say "Spock," but it came out more like "Spuh." His throat was so dry and he began to cough and wheeze once again.

A warm hand against his back supported him as another offered him a glass of water. Warm hands.

"No, Jim. It's me." Jim nodded as Bones helped him sit up completely. He finished off the water. Bones removed his hand from Jim's back. Hands that were too warm. Jim looked over at his friend, and knew immediately something was wrong. Before he could say anything, Bones cut him off.

"I'm fine Jim. You should get some sleep." Jim, about to retort 'you too,' couldn't quite manage it. Drugged water. There were no depths his Chief Medical Officer wouldn't sink to, especially when he was irritable and overworked. Jim once more slipped into unconsciousness, grateful that it was less painful than with a hypo.

The days passed. The rest of the landing party quickly recovered from the substance they had inhaled. Jim wasn't doing as well as the rest. Bones kept him on meds longer than anyone, and he still woke in the middle of the night trying to hack a lung out.

It was a full week before he was allowed to finally take back command on the bridge and several more days before Spock would play chess with him. And that's all that happened, just chess.

Jim was finally feeling back to his old self, and he wanted Spock. A week ago he thought he was dying. He'd probably been closer to death at some other point, but never had he felt so completely useless for so long. It gave a man a different perspective. He was tired of wasting time.

Finally, Jim saw in Spock's eyes what he was looking for. He could feel the tension in his quarters from the moment his first officer entered the room. Jim didn't exactly try to seduce Spock. It was more like he simply projected his want, his need, and hoped Spock would pick up on it.

Apparently it worked.

Jim wanted to stay awake. He wanted Spock to stay. But as he lay in Spock's arms and his first officer stroked back his hair or brushed his finger's along his cheek, Jim couldn't keep his eyes open. He began to drift and was soon asleep. He had a brief, horrible thought before he slipped into oblivion that perhaps Spock wanted him asleep so he could finally leave.

When Jim next woke, it was not because his alarm was going off. The only light in the room was the strip under the door coming from the hallway. That little bit of light was all he needed to see that Spock was still with him. Jim's mind flashed back to the last time he was with Spock. When he woke that morning and the sheets were still warm.

Jim didn't know whether it was the lingering effects of the drugs or whether he has simply willed himself awake. But he _was_ awake. And Spock was still there, staring at Jim with wide eyes. Jim wanted to say something, anything to his first officer.

He couldn't believe Spock was here. Spock was still in bed with him. Spock had been watching him sleep. Spock didn't want to leave. He never wanted to leave.

Jim could see it all now. Spock thought he didn't want him here. Jim silently cursed himself for not saying anything. This whole time and he thought Spock wanted to leave, that Spock didn't want to get attached. But staring into his eyes now, Jim knew better. Spock almost looked like a deer in headlights, or a small child getting caught doing something he shouldn't have.

Jim still couldn't say anything. He had a tightness in his throat, quite similar to his allergic reactions to most medicines. Spock slowly began to sit up, never taking his eyes of Jim's face. For his part, Jim felt paralyzed, unable to move, unable to speak. He slowly began to fill with dread.

If Spock left now, he would never come back.

Spock started to slip from the bed and grab his clothes. Finally, Jim felt something release inside him.

"Don't go."

It was hardly more than a whisper, but it echoed throughout Jim's quarters. Spock hesitated. Jim could see the tension in his back. Finally, his first officer slowly began to turn around, disbelief clear on his face. If Jim hadn't felt so desperate at the moment, he would have found the expression amusing.

Jim eased himself into a sitting position. He reached out and gently slid his fingers along Spock's jaw.

"Don't go," he repeated, smiling gently when Spock nodded and eased himself back under the blankets. Jim immediately moved so he was resting in Spock's arms.

When he woke in the morning, it was to blissful warmth.

**A/N: And done!!! Sorry this took so long. There was moving and a lack of internet involved. I really do think this is going to be all for the story. It's pretty obvious what's going on in Spock's mind and all that. Thank you to everyone who had the patience to wait it out for a third chapter And as always, thank you to everyone who reviewed, alterted or favorited this story. It was more than I ever imagined. I hope you all liked the fluffy ending!**


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